her parents, ended that relationship. He eventually drifted on to live in some other state. So she was left, like so many of her friends, a single mom raising her kids without a male influence.
Angelina completed her education while working a beginning stint at the Phoenix Police Department. Given her determination, hard work, and sharpened skills she had reached the rank of detective. As a woman, this had been quiet a triumph, especially since the Phoenix Police Department was known mostly for its machismo and for holding to attitudes reminiscent of the Old West.
What Angelina faced was no easy task—a woman alone, raising two kids, and trying to be both mom and dad. The bad experience with the ex had left her very suspicious of men. Very suspicious! In fact, to date, after her first mistake there had not been a serious second.
The kitchen door to the outside opened slowly. In walked an older, diminutive, Hispanic woman. Warmth was etched in the slight wrinkles of her rounded face.
“Mi bambinos!”
Both Ellie and Ricardo bolted from their respective chairs in response to her affectionate greeting. This was grandma. Their small arms stretched forward in an attempt to reach around her plump lower torso. Saturday was her day to come and spend with them while her daughter Angelina was on duty.
“Mama,” Angelina called out, upon hearing their voices in the kitchen.
She intended to say more, but before she could continue her cell phone began to chime. Angelina instantly picked up the phone from her dresser.
“This is Detective Ramos,” her answer was in a very business-like-manor.
She listened intently. “Hello. Hey!” a brief pause, “go ahead, I’m listening.”
A short minute passed, then another. Meanwhile, the children and their grandmother provided background noise as they laughed and talked in the kitchen.
“What’s the address,” Angelina finally spoke up, as she promptly moved to obtain a pen from her purse. She jotted down the information on a notepad.
In a flash, the conversation ended!
She sped back into her bathroom to take one last quick glance in the mirror to ensure that all was in place. She raced down the hall and in a flash was in the kitchen. With her mind racing at just as quick a pace, Angelina reached the trio in the kitchen having been readily transformed from a determined mother into an equally determined, uncompromising detective!
She stepped to her mother, kissed her, then Ellie and Ricardo, each on top of the head.
“I’ve got to go,” she exclaimed, exiting the kitchen door, “I will call you as soon as possible to check in.”
The door, flowing with Angelina’s swift motion, shut behind her. In unison, the kids shouted, “Bye mom.” This was their typical Saturday morning.
Angelina and her children lived in a neighborhood of newer homes, just off of North Interstate 17. Early on as a cop, she had perfected her driving skills. Statistics say women are better drivers than men; in Angelina’s case, that was magnified by ten! Shortly, she was up onto the freeway speeding to her destination.
“Angie, come in,” came a strong masculine voice over the patrol car radio.
She picked up a mic, “I read you.”
“Where are you?” The voice appeared to be anxious.
“Keep your shorts on Charlie, I’m headed south on I-17. I should be at your location in ten minutes at the most.”
Charlie was an older cop, a seasoned sergeant who treated Angelina like a daughter.
“You are going to love this one,” he sarcastically shot back.
“Keep me in suspense, I’m getting nearer the exit off 17. Out.” She punched the accelerator.
A spirited exit, a swift left turn at a cooperative green light, and then another quick right, shortly she pulled onto a narrow road that was old and pocked with chuck-holes. At the speed she traveled the vehicle bounced up and down, further testing shocks that had been severely tested on numerous other occasions. Soon she eyed an entry into a parking lot. Several patrol cars were parked at the site.
As she drove in, she could see a small cluster of reporters and curious bystanders. Several reporters stood positioned by camera men and with microphones in hand, right at the yellow tape marking off a crime scene.
Angelina looked above the doorway entrance marked off by the tape. The sign on the roof read “The Bulge.” As she exited her car, a gust of wind blew through her shoulder-length dark brown hair. She used her hand to remove the strands covering her eyes, while walking toward the entrance. She was wearing a business suit, with a short shirk. Her shapely legs gained the attention of several camera men.
As she continued her approach, there was no need to show her badge. Everyone there seemed to recognize who she was.
Just then, Charlie came out of the building. He looked the part of a twenty-five year veteran. He was overweight, with gray hair on his temples. A concerned look was on his face as he walked up to her. This caused her to halt for a brief moment.
“Do you know this place?” he asked, in a whispering tone.
“I can’t say that I’ve ever been here Charlie.”
He took her arm in his and pulled her aside.
“It’s a bath house.”
Not used to using the terms in her everyday conversation, it took a second for his remark to register.
Seeing this in her eyes, Charlie spoke again, “You know, a gay bath house.”
The word “gay” clarified everything.
“Okay,” she stated, “and we are here because of a suspicious death?”
“There’s been a murder.”
“Who died and how?” she asked.
Charlie began to walk her toward the entrance. “The victim is a younger man in his early twenties. From an initial investigation, it appears he’s been strangled.”
“So who do we have that may know something for sure?”
She hadn’t much finished her remark, before a slender man with tanned leathery skin, a shaved head and mustache walked right into her path. He had a cold, loathing look in his dark black eyes. He appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He sniffed his nose a few times.
“We need to get on with this!” His tone of voice was laced with asperity, reflecting the set of his eyes.
“It’s damn bad for business to have cops walking these f’n halls.” He sniffed again.
Charlie introduced him, “This man is Carl Morrison. He is the manager of this establishment. Mr. Morrison this is detective Ramos.”
He responded as if he didn’t even hear Angelina’s name. “Bath house! It ain’t no establishment, it’s a fuckin’ bath house where guys
